


The One Where Chromedome Loses His License

by fascinationex



Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [49]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Certification & Licensing, Crack, Face-Sitting, M/M, Pure High Octane Crack, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, regulations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: Chromedome's spike certification lapses, and there's only one mechanism aboard the Lost Light who can administer the exam.
Relationships: Brainstorm/his microscope (one-sided) (background), Chromedome & Rewind & Brainstorm, Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers)
Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311599
Comments: 36
Kudos: 75





	The One Where Chromedome Loses His License

The hab they share is dim, with cool air pumping quietly through the ventilation to keep warm mechanical bodies in good operating order while they recharge.

Rewind sits on the only berth, dwarfed by its size, and kicks his feet while Chromedome… says nothing. 

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” he prompts after a long silence. 

Chrometdome’s fans are running audibly, despite how he’s not doing anything strenuous, a sure sign of stress. If Chromedome has actually decided they need to _discuss_ something, it must be... 

... actually he's not sure what would be so dire that Chromedome wouldn't hide it and avoid talking about it. He feels unsettled by the thought, but maybe this is evidence of some kind of character growth on Chromedome’s behalf, if he’s going to tell Rewind terrible things directly, in person, without spiralling into misery and not saying anything for years at a time. 

Rewind tries to compose his field so Chromedome can't immediately tell that— 

"I—I have to retake the licensing test," Chromedome admits flatly. 

Rewind's intakes make a sharp wheezing sound. "You what." 

"I didn't—I don't remember the first test—I forgot—" 

'Forgot' is one way to put it. Rewind stills. 

"—and my spike certification lapsed. I have to retake it." 

Chromedome's field makes it clear he's mortally embarrassed but—it makes it obvious why he’s decided to bring it up, at least. He can't hide this, after all, as long as he wants to keep interfacing with Rewind. As soon as he moves his modesty plating it's going to be painfully clear if his spike is locked. 

"Oh," says Rewind, slowly. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or yell. But Chromedome looks honestly miserable. "Well—that's all right, isn't it?” he tries. “You'll get recertified pretty fast. There's other things we can do in the meantime." 

At least Chromedome has a mouth—and _Rewind_ hasn't mysteriously lost his spike license. 

"Sure, yes, I mean. Yes." Chromedome's enormous shoulders sag in relief, obviously pleased to be past the horrors of this conversation. "I will. Definitely." 

Later, when he can't help but pop his panels, the lock is clear and obvious. His spike is there, but tucked deep in its housing. It won’t come out, won’t unfurl and thicken and plump up. The software won’t let it. 

It's... weird. 

"Soon, Domey," Rewind says firmly. His fingers hesitate over the hardware. He can’t even remember—but then, _Rewind_ has never let his spike license lapse. 

He can't complain too much, though: Chromedome's built almost perfectly to have a minibot ride his face. 

"Uh-huh, soon." He sounds distracted. "You're so soft," he adds, in a much more interested voice. His tone is soft, awed and wondering, and he rubs his face on the velvety mesh of Rewind's valve while his engine purrs in delight. 

Rewind _loves_ that big engine, with its compelling, rumbling vibrations. Almost as much as he loves seeing his own fluids smeared on Chromedome’s face. 

And so then Rewind's distracted, too. 

* * *

'Soon', they said, but it's not soon, after all, is it? 

It transpires, after some awkward asking around, that Ultra Magnus is the only mech on board who can give the licensing exam. 

Chromedome… fails it. 

“You…” 

Rewind isn’t quite sure what to say. 

Chromedome is sprawled, miserably, face-first on their berth. He manages to take up all the space. 

“You failed your _spike certification exam_?” Rewind says, for what may or may not be the third time. He feels like his processor is glitching, like the memories of this situation aren’t being properly stored. His reality core is, perhaps, struggling with the new information. 

Then, in an aggrieved whine, he adds, “Domey!” 

Chromedome’s insides are whining, high with stress and embarrassment. 

“Apparently," he says, muffled, “…you're meant to fail if you don't get a hundred per cent.” 

_How did you not get a hundred per cent?_ Rewind wonders. It’s a _spike certification_ exam. He chooses not to ask. 

Instead, Rewind pulls a face, then climbs up onto the berth to gently pat one of Chromedome’s wheels. 

“Next time?” he offers. 

Chromedome makes a long, upset noise with his engine. He is not even half as upset about this as Rewind is trying not to be. 

If this persists, it's going to be a long, long quest. 

But still. Rewind is optimistic. Who fails their spike certification twice? 

* * *

He fails the next one, too. 

“I forgot the inventor of the spike,” he complains, into Rewind’s belly. 

“Cocklockimus Prime,” Rewind says wearily, staring at the ceiling even as he pats Chromedome’s helm. Chromedome is warm against him. It feels like he’s been warm for a week now, constantly running hot from what Rewind can only think is mortification. His field is all snarled up with it. “Everyone knows that.” 

“I got _ninety eight per cent_ ,” Chromedome says. Again. “I can’t believe he _failed_ me.” Again. 

“Domey…” Rewind says, as gently as he can, “…ninety eight per cent is not a spike in my valve.” It is getting less and less gentle by the day. Rewind wants a spike in his valve. Chromedome has a _nice_ spike.

He remembers it fondly. 

Hasn’t seen it in a while, though. 

There is another, even more miserable noise from the vicinity of his middle. 

“I’m sorry,” says Chromedome, which is also not a spike in his valve. “Do you want me to eat you out again?” 

“I guess,” says Rewind, even though he knows it’ll still be _good_ , it just won’t— “Can we get sex toys,” he adds, even as Chromedome shimmies further down the berth. 

“Yeah,” Chromedome agrees. “Anything you want.” 

“Hmm,” says Rewind, thoughtfully, letting his panel unclasp and feeling Chromedome’s face plate retract against his sensitive components. His vents whistle when he sucks in fresh air, and then he rumbles delightedly at the scent of Rewind’s lubricants on it. 

He doubts Chromedome has fully considered the ramifications of his agreement, there. 

* * *

Nobody is selling sex toys on the Lost Light, but Rewind isn’t going another week without a spike in him. 

There’s one mech on board he knows for _sure_ will make whatever they want. Rewind is horny enough that he doesn’t even care that his sex toys will probably end up being, technically, like, war crimes. He’s beyond caring. He needs it. 

But they have to explain why, of course. 

“You _failed_ your—oh, hang on, I have to—” Brainstorm’s knees unhinge, elastic with laughter, and he takes the contents of his bench with him when he sags to the floor. Something shatters but it doesn’t seem to bother him much—he catches the red microscope and cradles it to his cockpit while he tries to stop his vents from heaving with laughter. “Do you not know how to use it?”

“I failed the _written_ , you _aft_ ,” Chromedome wails, aggrieved. Brainstorm’s wings twitch violently. 

“He forgot the inventor of the spike,” Rewind reveals, hopping up on the bench. It’s cleared of volatiles now, anyway. 

Brainstorm’s arms contract around the microscope, seizing as another burble of laughter emerges from him unprompted. The microscope looks oddly familiar. Rewind swears he’s seen it before somewhere. “Cocklockimus Prime? How can you forget Cocklockimus Prime?” 

Chromedome looks up at the ceiling, vents running hard with embarrassment. 

Rewind follows his gaze. The ceiling is high, but there are scorch marks up there. One is green. Hm. 

“Do you know Ultra Magnus grades your dirty talk? For grammar? He docked points for _vulgarity!_ ” 

The noise Brainstorm makes is unholy, unlike anything Rewind has heard before—and he’s heard the death-screams and sighs of an awful lot of mechanisms, in his time. 

It takes a long, long time to get him to stop laughing, and even longer to get him to get up from the floor and put his microscope back on its bench. 

“Sure,” he says, blinking his optics rapidly, “sure, vibrators, yeah.” 

“ _Thank you_ ,” says Rewind, which immediately sets him off again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please allow me to credit the wonderful people of the lofi radio australia discord for "cocklockimus prime".
> 
> If there was something about this fic that you particularly liked, or that made you laugh, please feel free to let me know in a comment. Otherwise, have a good night. XD
> 
> [social media:  
> [me on twitter](https://twitter.com/fascination_ex/status/1349225082506276869?s=19)
> 
> [me on tumblr](https://cardio-vore.tumblr.com)]


End file.
